A
lyrical dance, a fluid turn. A careless reader caught in flowing
prose. Eyes racing on, mind giddy with words. Thoughts tripping over
themselves, quite unable to appreciate all detail, its fine layers.
Fitzgerald's misfortune, for turning back, re-reading repeats the
effect. The dance begins, and details deserving notice are again
glossed over.
An
elegant step, a flawless note. A song sung by a reasonable tenor
voice. A stranger, a pilgrim always ready to move on, to take to the
road in birch-bark shoes. A follower of Tolstoy, reading his works
and living his ideals in tribute to his memory. A writer of poetry in
a peasant blouse. Selwyn Crane, a player of Fitzgerald's: accountancy
at Reidka's (dear little Reids) his work, Tolstoy his passion.
Moscow.
Old England. 1913. Popular agitation. Mirrored in 2022. Railwaymen
out again, nurses and paramedics, and postmen and postwomen too, and
teachers voting on industrial action. All out, out, out protesting
their real grievances: pay and working conditions. Widescale trouble
and strife, troops on standby. A tango or pasa doble between
employers and employed.
Picture Credit: The Dance, 1912, Konstantin Korovin (source: WikiArt).
See The
Beginning Of Spring by
Penelope Fitzgerald.
Written December 2022.